


Ruffles and Ruses

by Ladylauralue



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 00:08:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5846227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladylauralue/pseuds/Ladylauralue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aurora Durand and her fiance are well known celebrities who would prefer their love life-and future wedding- were kept out of the tabloids. To get a wedding dress without notice Aurora enlists the help of her friend Belle, and sends her to "Glitter and Gold Designs" for a custom wedding dress. It's the perfect way to get a dress on the sly for a celebrity, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The place oozed with bridal charm. White and creams were everywhere, and Belle felt almost lost in a warm winter. There’s no one around but she already feels out of place in her cardigan and jeans ensemble. She shifted uneasily as the tall shopkeeper strode towards her, a grin on his face and laughter in his eyes. “Welcome. Are you here with an appointment?” he asked, his smooth voice caressing the question. He seemed something out of a fashion plate, sharp angles and patterns pulled together for a rather stunning picture.

“Yes, I’m Miss French, I made an appointment for 2:00?” she didn’t mean the question to come through in her voice, but it did and it’s too late to take it back.

The man laughed and brushed away her concern. “Overly punctual. Gold will like you, he can’t stand tardiness.” He turned and walked off with a swagger before beckoning her to follow.

He led her to an off-room and she realized the white mingled with metallics and jewel tones. Taking the ornate seat the tall man gestured to, she pauses a bit to let her mind catch up. It’s an elaborate ruse, but one that’s necessary for now. Breaking from her thoughts, she stares up at the expectant expression of the man who’s name she still doesn’t know.

“Um… What?” She shakes her head slightly, unsure of anything he might have asked.

“Tea, little rabbit, would you like some tea?” he half gestures to the stand of cookies and sandwiches and really, what kind of place is this? Everything seemed so at odds with everything else and she’d never been one to fret over fashion and status but in the confines of this place it feels as if that’s all that does. It’s too fancy, too out of her comfort zone, but before she can stand up and get a breath of air—or worse, run—the man knelt down at her feet and patted her hand. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ll be right back,” he stood abruptly and stalked away, muttering about “something soothing.”

Clenching one hand in the other, Belle took a deep breath and closed her eyes, willing the pressing flood of anxiety away. It might not keep for long, but long enough until she could leave. She kept her eyes closed until she heard footfalls on the carpet. The man that greeted her wasn’t the one who’d left on his self proclaimed errand. This man was smaller, with dark eyes that stared at her as though demanding what she was doing in his place. He wasn’t frowning, but he seemed to exude disproval, or something akin to it. Hastily standing, she reached out her right hand and introduced herself. “Miss Belle French. I’m here for a wedding dress.”

“Yes, I gathered as much,” he said as he took her hand. “I’m Mr. Gold”. His light voice was thickened with an accent she could only vaguely place to Scotland and he let go of her hand to step away and stare at her again.

Blushing before she realized he was probably sizing up her for a dress, she beat back the urge to fold her arms over her chest. Her sparse knowledge of fashion failed to help he identify who the designer of his suit and tie were, but she could see they were well tailored and immaculately kept. The tie was pretty, with a dark red pattern of swirls, against the red shirt and black suit. The silence dragged on before he finally spoke again. “Well, Miss French, I think we can work on something for your big day.”

With a bright smile Belle sighed in relief. The big hurdle was passed.

The tall man came back not long after her introduction to Mr. Gold, brandishing more than bearing a tea set. He spoke in the silence they left between them. “Ah, Gold! I see you’ve met our lovely client. What do you think?” He set down the tea tray and stood up with a flourish, “She’s got a lovely shade of chestnut hair, and I think if you were to play up her curves with some lace, or beadwork you’d have a stunning bride—”

“Enough, Jefferson. Better tend to your own dresses, and leave me to mine” The censure in his voice cut through the jovial conversation he was trying to develop, and with feigned offense he turned and left the room. “I apologize, Miss French, for the intrusion. Now, shall we get down to designing?”

Licking her lips, Belle nodded and took the liberty of pouring herself a cup of tea. It was most likely extremely rude, but she needed something to do with her hands. When she looked up from her handiwork, she saw that Mr. Gold had placed himself in the chair just to the right of in front of her. “When is your wedding, Miss French?”

Taking a deep breath, she named a date seven months down the road. “Though it may be postponed a week or two. His family is working out some travel details, as well as a friend of ours.”

“A week will hardly make a difference one way or the other with this much time,” he said absently, making some notes on the sketchpad paper. “You are aware of the usual fees and cost of a custom design, aren’t you, Miss French?”

Mortification brought a furious blush to her face, and she could feel the anxiety she’d pushed off come rushing back. _Be brave, be brave_ , she thought to herself, the mantra hardly managing to ground her as she struggled to think of a response.

“I’ll need to start from scratch on your dress. I haven’t designed anything for someone of your stature in a while.” He made a few more notes. “Most women who come here are taller…” he sounded almost absent minded. “I’m sure you know the type.”

Closing her eyes, she managed to answer. “I am more than aware, Mr. Gold, though if you seem to find me unsatisfactory as a customer, I’m sure I can find somewhere else who will accept my business.”

She heard nothing but the scratch of his pencil for a few quick heart beats before she opened her eyes. He wasn’t looking at her, as she imagined he would be. He was engrossed in whatever it was he was drawing, and Belle imagined that he forgot she was even there. He corrected her thoughts with an off-hand “That’s hardly necessary, Miss French.”

Something bitter rose in her chest, gripping her heart and her throat, not allowing her to even try to speak. Instead she stood up and tried not to run for the door. She didn’t need to deal with this, there had to be other vendors she could go to. She heard—or thought she heard—the man named Jefferson calling out to her but she couldn’t breathe deep enough to try and answer him back. The glass doors beckoned with promise of the anonymity of the bustling street and she all but crashed through them, reaching into her pocket with shaking hands to draw out her phone. She made it halfway down the block before she collapsed on the steps to some law firm or another, her lungs fighting to suck in air as she opened her contacts and hit ‘call’ on the last ‘A’ name; Aurora Durand.

She didn’t realize she was sobbing until the voice at the other end picked up and started yelling to her “Belle? Belle, what’s wrong? What happened? Belle!”

“I can’t do it. I tried to remember, I tried to talk to him, but he didn’t—he wasn’t, he-he-he” stuttering and sobbing Belle couldn’t control the tumble of words enough to even stop them when she heard her friend try and calm her down. “I’m not the kind of girl—the place was so white, I’ll never fit in that kind of place—”

“BELLE!” finally the voice at the other end of the line broke through “Belle where are you? I’ll come get you myself if I have to, but you need to calm down. Are you ok?”

Belle nodded before she remembered she couldn’t be seen. “I’m ok, I’m fine.” She wiped her eyes with her cardigan sleeve before looking up and down the street. “I’m sorry ‘Rory. I thought I’d be fine” her voice cracked as tears started to flow again.

“I’m sure you were just fine. I didn’t mean to put all that strain on you. Come over, can you?” Aurora would come down town if she asked it, but Belle couldn’t bring herself to ask.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll grab a taxi right now. See you soon,” she said, waiting for her friend’s goodbye to hang up. Belle stood and immediately regretted it, her vision darkening momentarily and the taste of meta filled her mouth. She braced her arm on the wall beside her, waiting for the feeling to pass. She didn’t remember much of the taxi ride, only that she was thankful when it was finally over and she was in front of Aurora’s apartment building.

The doorman let her in immediately, forgoing his usual hello but gently ushering her in with a worried “Are you alright sister?”

Belle nodded and reached up to give his arm a squeeze in thanks for his worry. He walked her to the elevator before leaving her, using his own key to make sure she would get an unhindered ride up to her friend’s suite. She whispered a thank you to him as he walked out, hoping he heard her.

The ride was long and quite, enough to sooth her nerves as the muzak played overhead. She hurried out the door and to the door at the north end of the hall, reaching out to knock before she even came to a full stop. When Aurora opened the door to let her in, Belle fell through the doorway into an awaiting hug. The two stood there as the minutes stretched on, basking in the comfort of friendship.


	2. Chapter 2

Anyone who didn’t really know Aurora Durand would think she was incredibly conceited about her success in the movie business as they glanced around her apartment. They’d see her awards placed here and there, and a poster of every movie she’d been in framed and hung on the walls. It took a closer look to see that the awards held down magazines, memos, and potential scripts, and that every poster was signed by cast and close crew members. She was seen as naïve and weak, unable to play the Hollywood game by many people, but the fact of the matter was, she was all too familiar with the way people treated each other, and instead of playing along, or fighting back, she refused to play at all. She’d once confided in Belle that the reason she liked acting was because she got to be a child again, playing pretend. Childhood hadn’t prepared her for the paparazzi or the fans or the lack of privacy. She knew she’d signed up for it, but some days she missed the ability to hide in a crowd.

She was fortunate to have a few true friends on both sides of fame. Belle was one of them, the two girls having shared an apartment room in college. It was only for a few semesters, but they kept in touch as the years rolled by. When Belle moved to California it seemed natural to look up her now famous friend and continue their friendship. Things had been as happy as possible in the Golden State’s gilded city, until an accident landed Aurora in the hospital. She’d been in the center of a media storm for months, but was blissfully unaware. Belle still felt a little heart ache when she remembered evenings spent reading tabloids and paperbacks to her comatose friend. Phillip Chevalier had been the only one more steadfast than Belle. He was a stunt man, and they’d met on the set of a cheesy teen action/dramady and hit off exceptionally well. The tabloids ate it up, insinuated affairs and potential scandals, but Aurora and Phillip weathered it well. Until the accident. Phillip nearly broke with the news, and nearly went broke with waiting. It nearly killed Belle to see him waiting by the cold hospital bed week after week, month after month. It was Phillip who’d been there when she’d awoken, who’d refused to let go of her once he had her back until the hospital threatened to kick him out. He’d proposed the night she came home, had been aching to ask but unwilling to let the moment be in a place as cold and sterile as Aurora was warm and inviting.

 That had been two months ago, and Aurora had managed to keep most of it out of the papers, but the news still leaked out. Aurora wanted some semblance of peace and privacy while she dealt with the stress of wedding planning and had been the one to ask Belle to participate in the ruse she concocted. The two women were similar in stature and Aurora had asked, nearly begged, Belle to be the one the dressmakers fit for wedding gown. Belle had agreed, and even been excited with the prospect of fooling the ever circling paparazzi. Until she walked into Mr. James Gold’s dress shop and all her efforts to evade her anxiety attacks had come to naught.

“Come on,” Aurora said softly, guiding her frazzled friend to a sofa before sitting the two of them down. “What happened? What did he say?”

Belle searched for the words to explain. “It wasn’t just what he said; it was how he said it.” Having Aurora for a roommate, who looked like a Rackham sprite fresh off the page was daunting when you were reclusive and bookish and turned in papers that were at least two pages over the maximum. Belle knew she was pretty, but Aurora was something else. “Like I didn’t belong there. It was asking me if I knew about fees and the cost, and saying that he normally designed dresses for taller women.”

“Well that’s stupid,” Aurora said, holding her friend closer. “If he’s such a great designer a shorter woman shouldn’t be hard to do, right?” She let the comment settle in silence before hugging Belle and whispering “I’m sorry.”

Belle shook her head. “’S not your fault,” and it wasn’t. Belle had agreed to it, knew the kind of stress she’d be dealing with. At least she thought she knew. She didn’t hang in the same circles as Aurora did, she didn’t deal with the condescension that those with means and looks and adoring fans had. “Are there any other designers you want?” _Anyone but him_ remained unspoken.

“Oh, of course!” Aurora soothed. “I don’t need to patronize someone rude enough to send you into an attack.” She pulled away from their embrace and waited for her friend to look up. “But before that, I think we need to have tea and a movie. How does that sound?”

“Are you sure?” Belle asked, “I don’t want you to have to change plans…”

Aurora waved away the concern. “Phillip is coming over tonight, but the only thing I had planned until then was waiting for you to come over so we could talk wedding dresses.” Aurora brushed some stray curls behind Belle’s ear. “I think we have some cookies or something here too. Sound like a plan?”

Nodding, Belle stood up, waiting for Aurora to follow suit and the two young women walked to the kitchen, rustling up a kettle and mugs. The talked of designs, motifs and colors themes that Aurora thought pretty while they waited for the kettle to whistle. With mugs in hand they made their way to the sofa before the television set, and Aurora queued up one of their old favorite’s from college. Belle laughed when the bright colors and music came up, glad for the happy distraction. She’s glad of the time alone with her friend while she calms down, and she doesn’t hear her phone ringing, or see the ID read “Glitter and Gold Designs”.

The credits rolled with the two leads dancing their hearts out, and Belle turned to look at Aurora. Her friend had her hand propped to hold up her head and her fingers twitched her knuckles turned the ring around and around. “’Rory, you’re happy, right?”

Looking a bit startled, Aurora just looked back at Belle for a few moments before nodding. “Yeah, I am. When I don’t think about the wedding, or how we still need to figure out living arrangements, it’s a quite kind of happy,” she smiled softly as she let her thoughts wander. “When I think that Phillip is the man  I’ll get to come home to for the rest of my life, my heart starts to race a bit.”

Nodding in feigned understanding, Belle was about to lapse back into her thoughts when Aurora turned the question back on her. “Are you happy?”

“I think so,” was the easiest response. “I mean, I’m not unhappy.”

With a shake of her head and a moue of her lips, Aurora brushed away the sentiment. “That’s not the same thing and you know it.”

Belle could feel the conversation turning and she didn’t want to face it. Sleep, maybe eat and then read a book. Put some distance between the day’s events and her emotions. Before she had a chance, a small electric chime rang from the table at their feet. Aurora nearly leapt off the couch to retrieve her silver phone, a bright smile already in place. “Hello Phillip!.... Yeah, that sounds great! …See you in twenty minutes? … I love you too, baby.”

Rolling her eyes, Belle pushed herself up from the couch. Aurora and Phillip were happily crazy about each other, and who wouldn’t be glad for a friend who found someone so in love with her? But sometimes she felt like an outsider, intruding on something special she didn’t understand. She picked up her phone and woke up the screen, choking on a gasp when she saw the missed call. “Belle? Is everything alright?”

Shaking her head, Belle held out a hand and dialed her voice mail. There was no reason for anyone from that place to be calling her. And yet “—well if you hadn’t we wouldn’t be in this position, yes—we, now shush, go away. Miss French! I seem to have missed you. Unfortunate, that. My colleague wishes to apologize for his abominable behavior, as soon as is convenient for you. I myself I would also like to sincerely apologize. I truly hope you will agree to seeing us again, and letting us design the dress for your big day.”

She thought she heard a scuffle before the end-of-the-message beep, but she wasn’t sure, and she wasn’t positive it mattered anyway. A harsh push of the ‘7’ key deleted the message, but it wasn’t enough to simply erase the message. She didn’t realize she was frowning until Aurora stood in front of her, ducking her head to establish eye contact with Belle. “What’s wrong?”

“Um… Jefferson? From the dress shop. He just called and asked me to come by as soon as I was able.” This didn’t make any sense, established designers didn’t hunt down clients. It was unheard of. “To make amends for Mr. Gold’s behavior.”

She didn’t miss the surprise in Aurora’s eyes, but hoped that it wasn’t because she wanted Belle to try again. “Are you thinking about doing it?” Aurora asked.

“Not like that, not like I’d actually want to go through with it,” Belle sighed. “Is it ok to ignore them?”

Aurora grinned “I think it’s perfectly acceptable.”

One week later Belle had been subtly mocked, told the designer didn’t design the style of dress Aurora wanted, and told that they were booked for fittings for the next six months. It was with slight dread that she found herself outside “Glitter and Gold Designs”. Instead of her usual business casual, she was wearing a vibrant purple hi-low skirt edged in red ribbon, brown gladiator heels and a crocheted lace top over a golden yellow cami. Large sunglasses sat perched on her nose, but shifted to rest on her head when she entered the shop. Jefferson stood at the desk, glancing up to see who walked in the door to look back at his work, only to jerk his head back up. “Why, Miss French. What a pleasant surprise. I almost thought you’d decide not to show.”

“Well, here I am.” She struck a bit of a pose, her hands up in an almost-shrug. She and Jefferson shared a smile, and she felt a flutter of pride and hope in her stomach. She could definitely do this, especially with Aurora and Jefferson on her side.


	3. Chapter 3

Instead of sitting and waiting for tea, Belle chose to wander about Gold’s section, looking at his most prized designs. She had come prepared, with a few photo references and swatches that Aurora had adored, holding them casually in a manila envelope between her arm and ribcage. She could see the influence of Gold’s style on Aurora’s choices, though she certainly had her own stamp on them as well. Mr. Gold had a flair for the flamboyant, but in flattering ways that drew attention to the figure. Aurora wanted something ethereal, but with that whimsical touch he seemed to have in every creation. The one that really caught her eye was a ball gown, creamy white overlaid with lace that started out pure white at the bodice and darkened to cream at the foot. It must’ve taken extreme precision dying such splendid work, and the beading around the shoulders was exquisite. She was leaning closer to examine it when she heard muffled footsteps on the carpet. She spun around, the toes of her sandals grinding into the plush floor as her skirt fluttered around her calves. She thought she imagined a scrutinous look of surprise as he looked her up and down, but she couldn’t be too sure. “Well, well, well, dearie. I see you’ve returned. Style more important than pride?”

Trying to distract from a definite blush she flicked a lock of hair over her shoulder before staring him down. “Only in some matters, Mr. Gold. Only in some matters.” She cocked a hip out and tried to look unimpressed, hoping if she pretended to be brave, she eventually would be. “I decided to save you some time and bring along a few ideas. Give you a bit of a foundation to start from.” At that snap she lost the battle with her blush, and her breathing came a little faster, but she held herself together and composed.

He definitely looked irritated at the suggestion that he needed help doing his job and Belle tried to hide a delighted grin. Roughly he pulled out the paper contents, but misjudged his grip, letting some scraps of lace and ribbon fall to the floor. Before Mr. Gold could finish his muttered, colorful cursing Belle was already bending to pick them up, handing them over with a raised eyebrow. With a flick more forceful than necessary he retrieved the fabric and gruffly walked over to a chair, making no move to invite her over. Following anyway, she sat herself down with a somewhat graceful plop in the chair across from him and watched quietly as he studied the references.

He shuffled the papers in his hand, pulling out a sketchbook she hadn’t noticed before and flipped it open, balancing the references on one leg and the book against the armrest. He made a few strokes and started to hunch forward, his focus entirely on the page before him. His entire persona changed, from a man brusque and off putting to one who’s entire focus was on creating something from next to nothing. Belle only had a few moments to marvel at the change before he tore out the page he was sketching on and laying it on the floor beside him, loosing himself on the next page before the first had even landed. Jefferson brought tea, but was shushed and brushed away before he could say anything, leaving with a look of sympathy for Belle. Twice more he ripped out the page, the sound startling her as she drank her tea, before he slid his pencil into a pocket within his jacket and finally sat up straight to look at her.

He had been a thousand miles away, she could tell, though he returned to present within a few moments. Handing over the sketches he cleared his throat. “Well, here are some preliminary ideas, judging by your figure and the designs you brought in.” Belle bit back a retort as she looked at the drawings. Unlike most fashion sketches she’d seen, these ones were drawn with figures more like hers. In the first, the embellishments seemed to fall from her shoulders down to her hips, drawing attention to the shape of the model, before ending at the knee, where the dress flared out in a mermaid cut. She could only imagine Aurora’s distaste. She slid it to the back and examined the next one. She held in a gasp. It was perfect, gorgeous flow of cloth, and what she believed to be lacing around the shoulders and feet. The torso was smooth at fitted, flaring out to a delicate fall of cloth to the floor. Trying not to linger, she shuffled to the last one, which made her stop and stare for a long moment; to her, it seemed to scream “Aurora”. A one shoulder dress, tight around the torso and falling out to her feet; it was the epitome of whimsy. From the rough sketches, it seemed to be all folds and gauzy fabrics; absolutely what Aurora was looking for.

“This is it” Belle said, not realizing how loud her voice was in the silence. She hardly noticed Mr. Gold jumping at her exclamation. “This is the dress for –me.” She nearly bit her cheek stopping herself from saying her friend’s name.

“That one? Are you sure?” Mr. Gold’s tone carried genuine puzzlement, like he believed she doubted her own choice.

“Oh, yes, absolutely.”

“If you’re sure, dearie.”

The tone he used stuck with her the rest of the day, as she discussed cloth choices (light and airy fabrics, whichever suited) embellishments (no beading or lace) and fit (snug, but not immodestly tight). She snapped a picture with her phone to show Aurora before Mr. Gold could file it away. In their discussion of color, he seemed to try to sway her towards blues or golds, but Belle firmly insisted on violet as the accent color. Aurora loved purples and lavenders and violets. It took a lot of restraint on her part to keep from buying anything and everything in the color range, but for her wedding dress, it was accepted, and in the case of friend and fiancé, expected. The designer himself seemed a little put out that she was so stubborn about what she wanted, and they may have argued, though neither would admit to calling it that. Her appointed time ran out before he was able to get measurements, so she made an appointment for the following week. Mr. Gold bid her adieu with a dry “Until next time, dearie,” which Belle returned with a feigned hearty wave.

***

Aurora loved the design, and was happily anticipating more updates and discussing color themes with Belle the morning before her next appointment. They were staring at Belle’s closet and the pile of clothes Aurora had brought, and Aurora was doing her best to convince Belle that the vintage dress she held up was perfect for today’s appointment.

“C’mon, you have the perfect figure for it,” her friend said, _it_ being a dress suited for a pin-up model from the 1940s.

“I cannot walk into a bridal boutique looking like something the troops would paint on their airplanes.” It was a dress she’d bought on a whim, thinking to add a little retro touch to her wardrobe. No occasion had arisen that she’d felt appropriate to wear it.

Aurora held out the dress, studying the dress and her friend alternatively. “Nah, you totally can,” she said with a grin. “It’ll be perfect. You’ll be stunning.”

Belle caught the dress as Aurora threw it at her, rolling her eyes as she changed into it, needing a little help to button up the back. Spinning around in the mirror, Belle blushed at the snug fit. If she were in a book, the author would probably say it hugged her like a lover. The off the shoulder straps showed off a lot of rosy skin, but her favorite part was the skirt, which flared out when she spun, or walked with a sway. She didn’t want to admit it, but the flattering fit gave her a confidence boost. Aurora saw her out the door with a smile and a wave, and Belle made her way downtown to the shop. This time, when Jefferson saw her he grinned and held out an arm in welcome. “Why, Miss French. Looking lovelier than ever.”

She accepted the hug he walked around the desk to offer, and looked up at him. “Are you ready, little rabbit?” He asked.

“Ready for what?” Belle asked.

“Today,” Jefferson said with a flourish “the real work begins,” he leaned in, as though telling her a secret. “Fittings, cloth samples, dye lots, the works; and its Gold’s second favorite part.”

“What’s his favorite part?”

“The final fitting. Seeing his creation grace its intended wearer.” Jefferson continued to gesture grandly, as though a true bride to be stood before them.

Belle shuffled her feet nervously, a sense of unease stealing the carefree chatter that had passed between her and Jefferson. While Belle and Aurora had similar enough body types, they weren’t of the same coloring, nor did they carry themselves the same way. Belle was not the intended wearer, no matter how much she might pretend. The deception was important to her friend, but Mr. Gold did not seem the kind of man to deal well with interference in his artistic vision. She followed Jefferson to Mr. Gold’s wing before leaving her to wait for tea, and for the designer. The room seemed to push in around her as she waited, and waited, and waited.


	4. Chapter 4

Mr. Gold walked into the room as she had her hands clenched in fists and her eyes shut tight. It wasn’t his footsteps that caught her attention though, it was his voice. “Alright, Bae, alright. I’ll be there, right after I close up here,” he paused, listening to “Bae” on the other end “Five o’clock, and then I’ll be heading over,” another pause, and then “Yes, Bae, right away. I love you. Good bye son.”

She watched the last of the exchange, and at his farewell he looked up and saw her, going absolutely silent as he appeared to search for words to say. Taking a deep breath, she took the intiative. “Good afternoon, Mr. Gold.”

“Miss French. Early, as usual,” he said with a lying smile. He seemed almost displeased to see her, though Belle assumed it was the snobby side of him that saw her as beneath him. “We can proceed with the measurements, f you’ll stand over here?.” He gestured to a small, carpeted pedestal. “And, if you don’t mind, please remove the dress.”

There was no controlling the anxiety that enveloped her, or the rush of blood to her face. Getting the courage to put on the dress was hard enough, but she’d had time and a friend to talk her into it. Here, there was no time, and a temperamental designer who seemed to see nothing but flaws when he looked at her. She tried to stand up, but before she could even gain a semblance of balance a fuzzy darkness started to encroach on her vision. Shakily, she found herself reaching back for the armrest, but not quite reaching it. The taste of metal filled her mouth, and her breathing shallowed, and she felt something catch her in her fall. She clung to that presence as she fought to breathe properly, faintly aware of someone saying her name.

She barely managed to rasp out an “I’ll be fine” before her vision smoothed out again, though she still felt dizzy. One hand was aching, and the other was trapped beneath her and the wall. No, not the wall. It wasn’t cold and flat like a wall. What she had mistaken for darkness was a suit jacket, one she clenched tightly in one hand. She looked up, and was surprised to see the dark brown eyes of Mr. Gold. He’d somehow tried to catch her, but had managed to stop her fall to the floor, by taking its place.

“You say that now, dearie, but I rather suspect if I let you stand on your own just now, we’ll end up right back here.” She closed her eyes as she felt his warm breath against her face. It wasn’t unpleasant, but she felt that it wouldn’t be right to actually enjoy it. She faintly thought she should be blushing, but couldn’t manage it.

“You might want to let go, dearie.” Mr. Gold lifted a hand and covered hers. “How _are_ your fingers so cold?”

His shocked tone pushed her out of her half-thoughts and she tried to pull away, forgetting that she had his clothing in a death grip. She jerked him forward before finally prying her fingers off. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Gold, I don’t know what happened.” She started looking around for a way to help herself up, but found none. “I’m so sorry, I just—one moment I was fine—I don’t—I didn’t… It just got a bit fuzzy and then—I am terribly sorry, I—”

She was cut off from her apologies by a dry laugh. “Breathe, Miss French, or I do believe we’ll have this problem all over again.” He straightened his jacket and stood up with surprisingly little grace, before offering a hand to her. Instead of leaving her standing after he lifted her, he guided her back to the chair she’d only recently vacated. “Rest a moment, I’ll see if Jefferson can bring some tea.” He took a few steps before turning around. “He might be able to scrounge up some food as well. Would you object to anything?”

Belle shook her head and watched him walk out to the main floor. She looked down at her hands and saw they were trembling. Focusing on calming down, she only scarcely acknowledged when the designer returned. He had to force a rather large mug into her hands, and she savored the sweet smell and the warmth. When she lifted it to her lips, she was surprised by the flavor; rich, earthy and sweet, with hints of vanilla and chocolate. After a few moments she could feel Mr. Gold’s eyes on her, but she did her best to ignore it, while she thought over what she could say to him to explain what had happened. When she looked up to try and explain, he held a plate towards her. She could see a few different cookies, what looked like miniature scones and crackers. “Eat something, I’m sure you’ll feel better.”

After a scone and a half, Belle was feeling much better, but was aware of the waiting from Mr. Gold. She hadn’t thought anything she could possibly say to alleviate her embarrassment. Fortunately, Mr. Gold took pity on her. “Care to share dearie?”

Clearing her throat, Belle spoke. “I’m fine now. We can continue.”

“I think not,” he nearly laughed. “You have anxiety, or something like enough.” He cocked an eyebrow at her shocked expression. “You hide it well enough, but you let things slip through the cracks.”

Belle looked down at her lap before she spoke. “It _is_ easier when I’m not under scrutiny.”

The laugh that burst from him surprised her. “It’s my job to scrutinize,” His accent thickened with incredulity at her statement. “I have to make the bride look her absolute best. If I don’t scrutinize her, I don’t know how to do my job.”

“You don’t have to judge me.”

“Miss French, I don’t know if you’ve realized this, but I do custom designs for brides. What I design has to be absolutely _her_.” Mr. Gold stood to pace the floor before her “I take a great amount of pride in my designs and my ability to create a woman’s dream dress. But I have to look at the bride to do it, and most brides prefer the style to be something extremely flattering and uniquely them. I’m creating a dress as soon as the bride walks in. It’s a gift.” He threw up an arm in a flamboyant gesture and almost struck a pose.

Belle took in what he’d said, finally calmed down enough to truly think over what the problem was. Taking a deep breath, she spoke up. “You want me to strip down, and all I can think” she let out a small giggle of hysteria “is that you’ll do nothing but find fault with what you see.”

Silence settled over the two of them, until Belle finally got courage to look up. He was looking at her, but softly, and he had his head tilted a bit to the side, like he was trying to figure out a secret. After a few long moments, he nodded slightly. “I am sorry I made you feel that way. It was never my intention, whatever either of us thought when we met, to ever make you feel less than who you are.”

Belle couldn’t help a sad smile tugging at her lips. “Thank you, Mr. Gold. That makes me feel much better.” She stood up, of her own volition, and put on hand on her hip. “Well, I’ve wasted enough of your time. Shall we continue?” The butterflies in her stomach fluttered up again, but she kept it under control.

“Are you sure, Miss French?” He walked over to her, keeping a respectful distance away.

Nodding, she answered “I am. And please, call me Belle.”

“My name is Alan.”

This time, when she walked towards the pedestal, she felt calm, collected. She slipped off her shoes and took a second to relish the soft carpet under her toes. She reached behind her, to try and get the buttons herself, but was stopped when Alan came up behind her. “If you don’t mind, I can help you.”

The blush that colored her cheeks this time was not subtle, but it wasn’t overwhelming either. “No, I don’t. Thank you” she said, looking over her shoulder. She felt the slight tug as he struggled to push the buttons out of their loops.

“I hate cloth buttons,” She heard him mutter behind her. “Satin buttons are barely tolerable, but I can stand them on some dresses if they’re aesthetically pleasing. Otherwise it’s a devil of a time trying to get them done or undone.” With his last words the dress gaped completely open and she slid it down, stepping gingerly out of the pool of fabric at her feet. In the mirror she saw the blush in her cheeks was now making its way down her throat. “Ready?”

For reasons she didn’t entirely understand, she couldn’t keep a grin from her face. “Yes, I’m ready.”

He made quick work of taking her measurements, and was almost completely impersonal about it. There was no reason to wonder at how warm his hands were when they brushed against her back or at her hip as he measured her legs. Once he was finished he helped her back into her dress and did up the buttons, with only a mumble or two of complaint before letting her get back onto level floor and into her shoes.

“Well then, I guess that’s all for today. Come back in about two weeks, and I’ll begin putting together the perfect dress for your dream day.” He smiled, and Belle returned it. She held out her hand, and was pleased when he promptly shook it.

“Thank you, Alan.” She said, and turned to walk away, looking back at the door to his wing and waving.

She didn’t hear him as he said, softly “Good-bye, Belle.”


	5. Chapter 5

“I don’t know how to explain it.” Belle was sitting with her legs slung over the back of the couch later that week, awkwardly curled to keep her head on the seat cushions. “He was just different after that.”

Aurora stood over her, tray of Irish Nachos in hand and arched an inexplicably royal brow. “If you say so. I’m still holding my original reservations.”

“You should think kindly of the man. He’s designing you a gorgeous dress.” Belle grinned. “Phillip is going to be absolutely stunned when he sees you.”

Making sure not to drop the plate, Aurora plopped herself next to Belle, just barely managing to avoid sitting on her long hair. “You think so?”

“’Rory, that man will do anything for you, will love you to the stars and back. Your dress is so perfectly you, I swear, you’re going to want another reason to wear it.”

Leaning back, Aurora stared up at the ceiling, losing herself in thought. Belle rolled over, moving to sit up and steal some of the cheesy potatoes. “I don’t know why you won’t try these with proper nacho toppings.”

“If you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat any.” Aurora retorted, moving the plate away.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like them!” Belle cried out as she reached over her friend for the plate. The two were disrupted by Belle’s phone going off. When she looked at the screen, she saw the name “Glitter and Gold Designs” and drew up short.

“What is it?” Aurora asked, worried at her friends sudden stillness.

“I don’t know,” Belle said as she slid the answer button and held the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Miss French!” the exuberant voice of Jefferson greeted her. “It’s come to my attention that while the esteemed Mr. Gold is designing your dress, you may not have given any thought to shoes which really, complete the outfit, don’t you think? And well, poor Victor has received a shipment of materials that are quite the wrong colors for his usual clientele, but some of the shades might be rather fetching with your bridal gown. Do come down to the shop at your earliest convenience, before he takes it into his head to butcher them for _some ridiculous whim!_ ”

Belle held the phone away from her head as Jefferson shouted the last words, which she assumed were directed at least with intent towards “poor Victor” but were landing quite soundly in her ear. “I hadn’t given much thought to footwear.” Wildly gesturing and pulling frantic faces, she got Aurora to listen in on the conversation. “I haven’t even seen the actual cloth Al—um, Mr. Gold is using.” Belle stated rather blandly, trying to buy time to think. “I mean, even if it’s custom made, the dress will only hide so much. I don’t want it to look pieced together.” Heads together, the two young women listened to what the man had to say.

“Why, Miss French, would I try and sell you anything less than absolute perfection? I’m almost insulted that you would suggest that.” Belle would have bet solid money that Jefferson was standing with his hand over his heart, as though she had cut him to the quick.

“I hadn’t really thought about shoes, I think the hem covers my feet.” She heard Jefferson scoff softly on the other end. “You said that Victor had spare materials just lying around? How do you know they’ll match the dress? I haven’t even seen the cloth Mr. Gold planned on using; the first fitting isn’t until next week.”

“I’ve seen it, and it’s beautiful. The man is a genius with taste and connections. He’s actually rather adamant that the shades be just to your specifications, so he’s—Oh, speak of the devil and the imp will appear. Come down, as soon as you can.” With that, the sound on the other end cut out, signifying the end of the call.

Dropping her arm, Belle leaned back to look at her friend. “Well, that’s not going to work” Aurora said, breaking the silence.

“How do you mean?”

“We don’t have the same size feet.” Aurora lifted on leg up, displaying the petite limb in question.

A small pang of disappointment shot through Belle. At his invitation, a small part of her wanted to go see Jefferson, and to get to know the eccentric man who fronted the bridal boutique. Maybe she could slip in quickly after work tomorrow and let him know shoes had already been decided. She could make up something. “Well, it would only be polite to stop in, right? Since he was so adamant about inviting me.”

“Are you sure you just want to talk to Jefferson?” Aurora didn’t even try to hide the sly smile.

Pretending not to understand, Belle feigned indifference “He’s an interesting man, and he’s been so friendly and helpful. He seemed really excited, and maybe I can just buy the shoes myself.”

“Right” was all Aurora said.


End file.
